Cold
by HippieDippyGirl
Summary: Brendon wants to help Ryan feel better after a panic attack.


Cold. 

Cold was the first word that came to his mind when describing Ryan Ross, at that very moment. His ivory (since when was he so pale?) Skin was almost the equivalent of someone who had been lying face-down in the snow for an hour. 

Except for the small detail that Ryan had most certainly not been lying face-down in the snow for an hour. He'd been curled up on the corner of the couches in the bus for the better part of the night. One by one, the rest of his band-mates had left the premise in favor of their bunk. 

All except for Brendon, of course, because seriously - look at that face and just leave. That's right. Not possible. 

Brendon was curious about why Ryan had been so silent, so still. "Ry?" he spoke finally. He really didn't even know if the other was awake.

"Hm?" came the mumbled response, hazel eyes opening to stare weakly at Brendon's own.

Without warning, he reached out to press a hand against Ryan's face and almost immediately pulled back, confusion forming on his features, something unreadable mixing into it while he deciphered the situation. Even though he's pretty sure he knew what was wrong, Brendon asked anyway. "Why are you so cold?"

Ryan shrugged miserably, avoiding Brendon's prying gaze.

"What caused it?" the younger boy asked. Ryan's pretty sure that had he not wanted the entire planet to fuck off in this very moment, he would have been surprised that Brendon knew.

Not that he should have been, mind you. Ryan had momentarily forgotten that Brendon knew virtually everything there was to know when it came to the lanky brunette. 

He glanced out of the bus window, seeing a vague flash of a road sign before turning back to meet chocolate eyes that were filled with concern. And yeah, had he not been recovering from the worst panic attack he'd had for a while, even_ he_ would have to admit that Brendon was pretty sweet when it came right down to it.

Brendon, on the other hand, watched the gears turning in his boyfriend's head. Concern settled like a weight in the pit of his stomach. He should have known right away. Should have taken him aside hours ago and held his hand and sung small melodies until he was positive that Ryan was okay. Panic attacks happened once in a blue moon now that they were on the road and touring. Ryan simply didn't have the time or the energy to worry about everything when they were kept on such an insane schedule.

But even still, Brendon knew the signs. It must have happened hours ago, somewhere isolated. When it was over Ryan would try to act normal but one thing would always give it away. The coldness. His skin would turn to ice during the attack, tingle and go numb without warning. From there, it would take nearly an entire day to feel like he was back at a reasonable temperature.  
So, yeah, Brendon knew. 

Brendon knew and Ryan shook his head, retreating back into the shell that he'd worked so hard to craft over the years. And then _Brendon-fucking-Urie_ came into his life and broke down the barriers within the first month, the bastard. 

In any case, when Ryan developed that far-off look in his eyes, Brendon frowned and reached for his hand. Squeezing it gently, he asked again. "What happened?"

Ryan sighed, and he just _knows_ that he's not going to win this one. Because in the battle of stubbornness, as awful as he could be, Brendon was a million times worse.

So he spoke slowly and didn't meet those deep brown eyes until he's done speaking. 

"I got a call today. From my dad."

Brendon looks at Ryan sympathetically, untangles their hands, and moves closer in order to wrap an arm around his bony shoulders. 

Ryan continued, "He said he's sick. Said he feels like it may be getting to the end, for him. And, um, he said he wanted me to come home and help him. Stay with him until it happens."

Brendon stiffened next to him but the tension is expelled as soon as it came when Ryan reveals the next part.

"I said no, obviously. And he didn't like that answer. Called me things I haven't been called since high school," he said remorsefully, closing his eyes and resting his head in the crook of Brendon's neck. Comforting patterns were being traced onto his arm, though, and it gave him the strength to finish the story.

"He just kept yelling through the phone, and suddenly it was like I was in that house again. I was fifteen and he was trying to hit me with an empty bottle, or shoving me into the wall, or…I don't know. I got really freaked out." 

Brendon set his jaw, keeping himself from any outbursts, seeing as they were the last thing Ryan needed right now. But, god, Ryan's father was someone he could kill. 

He remembered the first time he encountered George Ryan Ross II. It was late and a Saturday, and Brendon was invited to stay with Ryan simply because neither of them felt like moving from his bed after hanging out all day. George had been up to check on them once during the night, mumbling something that Brendon couldn't quite make out. He hadn't seemed mean, just unfriendly. 

And then there was _the night_. It was the first time Ryan opened up to him about it. 

The older boy had shown up at the doorstep of Brendon's crappy apartment, out of breath and with eggplant colored bruises surrounding his eye. It had taken him three hours of uncomfortable silence to get Ryan to tell him what happened. Once he started talking, he didn't stop until tears were threatening to spill over and Brendon was looking at him in newfound adoration and sadness all at the same time. 

And now, here they were, years later. Curled up on a bus in the middle of the night, Ryan tucked into his side. Brendon was still giving him the exact same look. 

"I'm so sorry," Brendon said into a mess of curly hair. He pressed a soft kiss there, tightening his hold on the other boy. 

Ryan wriggled so that he was all but lying on top of Brendon's chest.  
The singer's chocolate eyes were half-lidded, and the deep voice of the owner said things like, "I love you," and "it's okay," and it really, truly, made Ryan believe him. 

"I love you, too," he responded quietly - his voice had always been too soft. "Goodnight, Bren." 

They woke up in the morning halfway-falling off the compact couch, Brendon holding Ryan to his chest tightly so that he won't topple off. Sun was streaming through the window as the scenery passed them by while Spencer and Jon exchanged knowing looks back in their bunks. Picture phones had truly been a staple in their lives on the road with two boys who were disgustingly in love with each other.


End file.
